


Puddles

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Fluff, Gen, happy happy happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike discovers that jumping in puddles is more fun than writing an album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puddles

During the writing of their album Mike introduces a grading system for everything everyone produces. Rob gets tired of being all the time graded with a C minus and takes a mental health day. Which, you know, would have been fine had he even thought about calling one of the guys to say he wouldn’t be in. But he was scared that they’d try to talk him into going and by the time they were done with that the rain would have stopped.

So, instead, he leaves them hanging and digs through his closet for his frog Wellington boots and his matching green plastic rain coat. It’s rained all night long so the puddles are pretty deep already and the lawn is muddy.

He’s barely managed two mud pies before Mike pulls up at the bottom of the driveway. Rob sighs and gets to his feet. He digs his muddy hands into his pockets as Mike climbs out and pulls up the hood of his jacket.

“Oh,” Rob says, “hey, Mike.”

“We’re meant to be in the studio today,” Mike says, walking up the path, trying to avoid the mud. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer so, you know, I was getting worried.”

“Why?” Rob asks, bristling a bit.

“Well. Because. You know. That time you turned the gas on but didn’t tight the oven.”

“That was one time, Mike.”

“Yeah I know, but, I mean.”

“Stop it, Mike. Don’t you think it’s time to cut the umbilical cord?” This is something he has heard Chester tell Mike many a time before. He isn’t sure what it means, but it sounds good.

“What? You...where’d you get that from?”

“Nowhere. Now, do you mind? I was in the middle of something,” Rob says and gets back down on his hands and knees in the mud, using his hands to pile together a mud pie.

“So. You’re not coming?”

“So you can give me a D? No way.”

“I won’t give you a D,” Mike says, uncertainly.

“Fine. A C minus. Whatever. I’m busy.”

Mike raises an eyebrow, startled. It’s been a while since Rob was like this. Usually it’s when they’re on tour – he’ll get bored or tired or whatever and not show up for rehearsals in favour of playing hide and seek with Mark Fiore.

“Um...”

“Why don’t you join me?”

Mike blinks.

“I have some spare Wellington boots inside. But they aren’t frogs.”

Mike smiles and nods, “Okay.” He follows Rob’s instructions not to go through his stuff and digs the yellow and orange spotted rain boots out from beneath a pile of completed puzzle and colouring books, hurrying back downstairs with them on.

His mud pies don’t stand up as well as Rob’s do and he sits back on his heels feeling a bit defeated. And Rob goes, “Your pies get a D minus.”

Mike laughs, “Will I have to stay after class?”

“Yes,” Rob says. “But for now, let’s go jump in puddles.”

Mike smiles and gets up, following Rob into the street.


End file.
